


Second of Nine

by NancyBrown



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Costumes, Gen, Halloween, Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-01
Updated: 2014-10-01
Packaged: 2018-02-19 11:20:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2386466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NancyBrown/pseuds/NancyBrown
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Johnson is not as appreciative of Hallowe'en as the rest of the team.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Second of Nine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [raktajinos](https://archiveofourown.org/users/raktajinos/gifts).



> I saw the prompts and couldn't resist.

Contrary to popular opinion, Johnson didn't consider herself a grumpy person. She made an effort every morning to smile into her mirror at least once. She got a cat, or to be precise she began feeding a cat. The animal thus decided Johnson was acceptable companionship and moved into her flat, giving Johnson a living being to talk to and pat. The cat spent its non-eating time asleep when Johnson talked to it, and it didn't bite on the occasions Johnson remembered to pat. This, Johnson considered, was an acceptable arrangement not unlike her relationships with her new colleagues.

In short, although she was the first to admit she wasn't the most social of humans, Johnson felt she had sufficient skill to navigate interpersonal relations without undue stress.

"You're a robot," said Lois, over her salad at lunch.

Johnson blinked at her. "I'm not. Dr. Jones gave me my exam last week."

"No, really," Lois insisted with a laugh. "Robot. All lights and strobes and 'take me to your leader.'"

Johnson stared at her, but while there was gentle ribbing behind the laugh, she was certain the teasing wasn't intended to be cruel. She chose pithy coolness over offense. "I'm sure I don't know what you mean."

"Do you ever relax? Have fun? It's Hallowe'en, Johnson. Even Ianto lets out the starch in his y-fronts for one day."

Johnson didn't need to think about her co-worker's y-fronts, despite their employer's constant references to same. And environs. And ugh. Johnson took a long drink of her tea. She'd wondered if the Captain's constant sexual patter had begun for her benefit, yet another barb inside the gift: yes, she'd been hip-deep in the events that had nearly killed his family and friends and the world, but she'd helped him stop events in time and had been offered a job like a lolly for a good girl. He hadn't forget her role, though, and he wouldn't let her forget. Sexual innuendos were part of the deal. But no, his conversational topics were apparently always focused on his own genitalia, according to Cooper, who'd absently patted Johnson on the shoulder like she would a cat and had gone back to her googling.

Johnson said, "I relax. I don't see the point in dressing up like a child. We should be extra vigilant tonight," she added with a touch of defensiveness. "With all the lunatics out there in fancy dress, the aliens and worse could be at our door, and we wouldn't know."

"We'd know," said Lois, and nibbled the last bite of her lettuce. "I know! We should get you a costume. You can fight the alien bad guys, but you can dress up as a pirate. Or a witch. Oh, wait, better." She sat back in her chair and made a square with her fingers and thumbs, lining up Johnson in a photo frame. "You should be a copper."

"Typecasting," Johnson said, and tossed the plastic cutlery of her own meal into the bin. "Come on."

The day passed busily, what with the usual array of false alarms at this time of year, and the necessarily slow grind of rebuilding the Torchwood Hub's lost collections. Nevertheless, Johnson took notice when each of her co-workers took a moment or twenty to slip away and into a costume. Even Dr. Jones, whom Johnson considered to have more sense than the rest, reappeared without comment wearing an easy-to-run-in low frill version of Belle's buttercup-yellow gown.

They were set to knock off for the evening and enjoy, well, whatever it was the rest of the team enjoyed. Cooper would convince her husband to take her out in her harlequin outfit. The Captain, wearing a Superman costume, would go out among the masses, flirting outrageously while behind him, a somewhat beleaguered Batman would hand out polite apologies for the worst of his transgressions, until the sight of the other in tights got to one of them. (Johnson's imagination blissfully shut down before this thought continued.) Lois had lined up a tentative date with her new bloke, and had put on a pretty flapper dress.

Pity the Rift alarm went off before Superman could give the word to go home.

Johnson was the first to reach the car, the newest thing in sleek manoeuvrability. With a frown, and a glance in the mirror, she dug into her kit, and found bobby pins and two bits of black leather scrap from a ruined uniform.

By the time Cooper was in the car, Johnson was ready. "Good lord, what's in your hair?"

She waited half a moment, and Lois climbed into the car, her eyebrows shooting up in surprised and delight.

Johnson patted her ears and said, "I'm a kitty. Now drive."


End file.
